Meet the Mugwumps
by AllFluffiedUp
Summary: Albus is dead, but thanks to his sneaky friends, Harry becomes puppetmaster of Hogwarts and hunter of horcruxes, allies, & enemies. He installs a hardcore headmaster, faculty, & squad of assassins to battle train students, keep his closest friends safe & fierce, and purge the world of Death Eaters. Everyone likes the Frequent Fighters Club. Platinum Members get healed first.
1. Welcome, Welcome, to another year—

_"For a thousand years, they've been in control. Their name may sound silly, but they wouldn't have it any other way. It means power. It means discretion. It means information, and deception. Their name means hope, and hard choices. And most of all: it means they never lose. Harry Potter is a Mugwump. Harry Potter has a prison."_

**- – — – -**

**Meet the Mugwumps**

—

**Welcome, Welcome, to Another Year at Hogwarts**

**- – — – -**

**1  
Death, Printed Neatly**

August 15, 1997

Most of the student body were in London starting to board the Hogwarts Express, for the first time after Albus Dumbledore was murdered.

The new school year seemed destined to be unusual before it even began, though, for Hogwarts was starting nearly a month earlier than usual. There were no books to purchase or cauldrons to carry, either. Students were told over the summer in a five inch–long "Summons to Appear" to bring clothes, a wand, an animal companion, themselves, and positively nothing else. No explantions were given, nor did Hogwarts answer any owls other than by resending the summons, which had earned itself a nickname: "Shut Up and Show Up."

Harry, Hermione, and Ron, though, had already been there for three days, and were currently in the otherwise-empty Gryffindor common room, suffering mightily from a problem entirely of their own making.

It was all about "The List." War, it seemed, was sometimes a bureaucracy.

Thanks to Harry, they couldn't do anything but wait for it. As Harry idly looked over maps of King's Cross station, Ron and Hermione were too nervous to concentrate on anything, and just sat in a corner waiting for Harry to make up his damned mind.

"At least the Zabinis. They're a big family," Ron kept pleading, but Harry would have none of it. Harry insisted on waiting, and the parchment on the table sat blank and lonely.

—

On platform 9–3/4, rather imposing gentlemen were standing everywhere. Their wands were out, but pointed downward. They wore deep blue robes with small insignia repeated hundreds of times across the front: the Hogwarts shield with a golden "S" in the middle. But not the Slytherin type of S.

No one would be rushing on board and running for the best compartment. The gentlemen allowed a patient, quiet queue through only one door. As each person came to the front, one of the gentlemen would ask for their name and let them pass if they were actually a student. Each student got a ticket and an assigned compartment.

A Slytherin, Marvin Eukbody, decided to test the system by claiming to be Colin Creevey. There was a minor resemblance.

"Name? — Colin Creevey — House? — Gryffindor — Favorite hobby? — Taking pictures — Student you respect the most? — Harry Potter — Where were you born? — England — Where in England? — Outside London — What town? — Well it's actually part of London, it's just... — What are the teletubbies? — Uhhh..."

"Mr. Eukbody, put your trunk down and go with the gentlemen."

Marvin would never set foot in Hogwarts again. Colin Creevey, five places behind him, made sure he remembered. _I was born in Glasgow. I was born in Glasgow. _

Thirty minutes later, everybody was on board, and the doors were closed, but Harry needed the list before the train could leave.

—

It took 6 minutes to land on Harry's lap. Ron and Hermione rejoined the living, and the three of them poured over the list of students who were now locked inside the Hogwarts Express.

"I told you Malfoy wouldn't be here — But Pansy is, 5 direct family, 28 extended, 5 young, 5 old — Okay, probably on **A** — Zabini, sure. 3 and 38, 6 and wow... 20! — Eukbody... oh, there's a note — Oh, on Wooden, let's... — Just leave him. — Who, Wooden? — No, Eukbody — Wow, Ron, you have an extended family of 108? — Don't pick on me! — Crabbe, 4 and... Oh right.

And on and on. Hermione broke in: "I _told _you this was going to take forever. They're _all waiting!_ Let's just do the train. Pansy, Wooden, and the Slytherins in their compartments. Okay?"

—

The train had been waiting about an hour when the list marked "for **A** only! Send back soon!" arrived. After Pansy Parkinson, Davor Wooden, Gregory Goyle, and Phyllis MacNair were shifted into an empty compartment, the train finally moved, and the list of all four Slytherins rocketed around the world. Another list.

As Harry, Hermione, and Ron poured through names again, twelve men were laying in wait under bushes, in coffeeshops, on beaches, in bookstores, and in all manner of other random, inconspicuous places. Each got the list and went to work.

**2  
Baby, It's Cold Underground**

Pansy counted herself both intrigued and insulted. She had to wait nearly an hour for the train to leave the station. She had to endure a queue to be, of all things, questioned about who she was. And then these brutish men told her she had to switch compartments! At least she got to share it with Davor, but she was already writing a letter.

—

As Blaise Zabini was signing his name on a letter to his father reporting the odd events thus far, the door to Pansy's compartment began to open. It hadn't even finished opening when 1, then 3, then 4 wands poked in from the top, bottom, and sides, as though Hagrid and Flitwick had a wand in each hand.

_Stupefy! Petrificus Totalis! Diffindo! Evanesco! _The 4 Slytherins fell paralyzed to the floor as their seats vanished from under them.

Four men entered. One swirled his wand around the Slytherins' heads wandlessly. The last thing Pansy saw were white flames with a dragon's head over her head. She didn't feel the strand of hair plucked from her head.

Her final thought before zizzing away to a cold room deep under Privet Drive: _Fiendfyre with __**white**__ flames? Impressive._

—

Hermione was growing impatient again. "Just make up your mind! The train will be here in 10 minutes! Just pick somebody!"

—

When the train arrived at Hogsmeade, students exited the train with one of two expectations. The upperclassmen expected Hagrid to wave them over to the boats or carriages with his booming voice. The first years either had heard what would happen or were clueless.

Only the clueless were unsurprised. Hagrid wasn't there, only more of the tall men in blue. One said, "First through fourth years, to your left." Another: "Fifth through seventh years, to your right."

Blaise's curiosity was interrupted by the screams of Pansy Parkinson. She was running out of the station in the opposite direction from Hogwarts, shouting, "Don't let them catch you! Run!" Three other Slytherins were running alongside. All four were, of course, polyjuice replicas.

—

Back in Surrey, Pansy found herself on a concrete floor in a small, cold, dark room. A man in blue entered, turned on a light, dropped a Howler and heavy square wood box at her feet, and said "these were her last words." Pansy turned white as a sheet, whereupon the man turned off the light and left.

**3  
A School So Nice We Built It Twice**

As Blaise approached the castle, his mind was racing over what Pansy had done. When he entered the grounds, his ruminations stopped. He saw, several hundred feet down the hill from Hogwarts, a _**second **_castle with a tall iron fence. It was much smaller than Hogwarts — well, the big Hogwarts — well, the big Hogwarts castle — probably seven stories tall, but fairly wide. It looked like an old castle, but it looked like a new old castle. _Another castle? _

From a distance he saw Professor McGonagall in front of the small castle, shepherding in what he guessed were the first through fourth years.

He and the others walked up to the main castle's front doors and were met by an old man he didn't recognize. The man was thin, old, and tall. He wore tasteful black robes with a deep green collar and spoke with a foreign accent that Blaise couldn't quite place. "Good evening, everyone. Please leave your luggage in the usual place and proceed to the Great Hall."

—

As everyone's luggage was scanned, poked, prodded, and emptied of everything but clothes, Blaise walked through the castle thankful not to notice any changes. _Same stone, same torches, same portraits. At least something's stayed the same._

Then he looked closer, and saw more of the men in blue standing inconspicuously around corners, behind statues, in the shadows, and peering down from the stairs seven stories up. Although Blaise noticed them, few others would. They were good. They obviously worked for Hogwarts, and he was now sure Hogwarts was still firmly under the control of Dumbledore loyalists.

Blaise walked up the stairs to reach the Great Hall, whose doors were already open. He quickly looked toward the front, only to find head tables to accommodate twice as many teachers as last year. No one sat there. Towards the front of the hall, however, was the same old man that greeted them downstairs. He left through a side door after saying, "Please take your seats quickly, ladies and gentlemen; food and drink await you." _Was he the headmaster? _

**4  
A New Sheriff in Town**

Exactly thirty minutes later, the food disappeared and the doors of the Great Hall thundered open. All eyes were fixed on the doors, but no one was there. Yet no student looked away or even spoke.

The silence was broken by a faint, distant _clack_. It might have been a loud clock, but every other clack was more of a _click_, and sometimes a _thud —_ and sometimes seconds would pass without any noise at all. But the sounds were always getting closer. Someone or some _thing _was coming.

All Blaise could do was dwell on one question. _Why was Pansy running?_

An eternity later, the clicks, clacks, & thuds stopped.

The flames doubled in height. The cloudy sky turned jet black. Blinding beams of starlight battered the floors and students' backs. The head tables disappeared. The jars of house points emptied. The front wall became a mural of the Hogwarts shield, and everyone knew where to look.

In the frame of the doors stood a man.

—

The stranger paused and surveyed the scene in front of him. All were watching him with great interest, and none were speaking. He walked down the center aisle to the front of the Hall with measured steps and calm thoughts. _The future warriors. The future victims. Now we start._

He wore blood red robes with gold and blue stitching that appeared dignified and expensive. His shirt and pants were colored of the same blood red with black intermixed to give a complex appearance, as though every glance would yield a different revelation. He looked about 6 foot 1, with broad shoulders, brightly polished black leather shoes, and a tall wooden staff — it was _that_ staff that clicked and clacked loudly on the stone floor. His head had a long face and dark auburn hair that said he was lucky to still have that color at his age. His wrinkles were small in number but deep, running straight down his face and straight across from his eyes. Blaise was certain the man didn't get them from smiling too much.

And every student knew. _That's the headmaster._

—

When he got to the front, he spoke slowly, in a deep, acerbic voice with a strong Russian accent.

"From the dark of night … comes the light of day.

"From despair … comes courage.

"From time: healing.

"From fear comes hope.

"This year at Hogwarts will be unlike any this castle has ever seen."

—–—–—–—–—–—–—–—–—–—–—–—–—–—–—–—–—–—–—–—–—–—

COMING SOON:

- – — 1 — – -

_Flashback — to the night of Albus' death. Harry, now at the former HEADQUARTERS OF THE ORDER OF THE PHOENIX, finds a PARCHMENT addressed to him, written by Albus. The parchment is speaking._

ALBUS  
You must go to Gringotts, Harry.

_That morning, at GRINGOTT'S BANK, Harry hears what Albus had to say, and has three slowly-spoken words for NIKOLA KRUM, the organizer of the gathering._

HARRY  
Find someone else.

- – — 2 — – -

_Snape arrived by floo, ragged and dirty. _

SNAPE  
At last: Sleeping Beauty awakens.

_Draco needed information and he needed money. At the moment Snape was the closest source of the former. Food wouldn't be so bad, either. Draco made his way to the table._

DRACO  
Okay. Tell me about my choice.


	2. My Castles, My Rules

"_This year at Hogwarts will be unlike any this castle has ever seen."_

-–—–-

**Meet the Mugwumps**

—

**My Castles, My Rules**

-–—–-

**5  
BuhBye**

August 15, 1997

Dean Thomas was mesmerized. It was night and day. Albus had always reminded him of a wise, accomplished grandfather: powerful and a little unapproachable, but fundamentally friendly.

The man in front of him was passionate, but unyielding. He was smooth around the edges, but rough in the middle. He was the uncle you stayed away from at Christmas but always wanted to hear stories about. Dean liked this guy.

—

As he was making his first remarks, the Headmaster was moving his eyes back and forth across the room like a suave politician, giving everyone the impression he was talking to them individually. But then he stopped and stared straight down the Hall, looking at no one, just looking straight at the doors. His face had no expression.

—

"Some of you are dark of heart. You would follow Voldemort willingly. You would murder the innocent. You would torture the frail.

"I address my next comments **only **to you.

"You are not safe in this castle.

"We will not teach you. We will not feed you.

"You are entitled to your beliefs, and I am entitled to expel you for them. Several students have already been expelled. Some apparently have already fled to parts unknown.

"However: know this. You may believe you have no choice, that your fate is sealed. It is not. You may fear the wrath of the darkness should you betray Voldemort's cause, but you should fear the wrath of the sunlight if you do not.

"It is never too late to do the right thing. You will be welcomed into the light with open arms. You have only to take the smallest step.

"But if you do choose to place your faith in evil, the worthy people of this castle will bring you to your fate quickly."

**6  
Please Don't Feed the Sentries**

The headmaster's eyes went back into politician mode.

"We will not pretend that darkness does not exist. We acknowledge that wizarding society is at war, and we will prepare for it. We are already preparing."

Then, a dozen or so of the men in blue started walking in, some through the front doors, some through the side. They spread out along the walls and stood still and quiet. "You have no doubt seen these gentlemen throughout your journey today. They are Hogwarts' **Sentries**, charged with protecting us from danger."

"It is not in the nature of a Sentry to be friendly. Call upon them anytime you are concerned for your health, safety, or security, or that of others. They are charged to protect it, and they will do so fiercely. In those situations, you must call on them. Do not attract their attention otherwise.

"Each individual Sentry carries the full weight of my authority, superior to that of every professor. One or more Sentries may be assigned to protect one or more of you specifically. They will guide that relationship appropriately.

"Above all else, the Sentries are here to do the right thing. Although they are both capable and authorized to use deadly force, I assure you they are fully competent to decide whom to kill and who should remain alive. Very quickly they'll blend in and you'll hardly even notice them."

Blaise now realized this was going past his suspicions. Hogwarts would be killing its enemies — officially. _This is different from the Dark Lord?_

—

Dean was far more of a strategist than most knew. His darkest suspicion about Albus had always been that he was too principled to be effective in an open war. Year after year, time after time, politics and the influence of dark money got the better of him. War required tough choices, and the only person he saw making them was Harry. If Albus couldn't have kept Cedric Diggory safe during a time of peace, why should he have been handed the safety of millions during a war?

This man in front of him, though, whoever the hell he was, clearly was cut from a different cloth. Dean wasn't sure this man was a strategist, but he was sure this Headmaster knew how to run a railroad.

—

The Headmaster, outwardly confident, well-spoken, and on message, was inwardly a bit frustrated, because the Sentries obviously hadn't yet gotten the _name_ from Harry. He didn't see why he couldn't just pick someone — he'd had this conversation at least five times — but Harry's word was final, so talk–talk–talk he continued.

**7  
Like What I've Done with the Place?**

The Headmaster had his arms behind his back and was slowly pacing left to right.

"You may have noticed that all seven years are not present. A separate school on the campus has been created for the first four years, the junior school. It will continue with a slightly modified version of the traditional curriculum.

"The senior school will be held in this castle. The experience here will be quite different.

"All of your professors are new."

—

Blaise thought, _He fired all of them. He's got balls. _Colin Creevey thought, _Ohhhhh, poor Hagrid._

"There are many more professors than in previous years. Some professors who teach here at the senior school will also teach in the junior school.

"In one week, a number of adults will join us as special students. They will be enrolled in some of your classes and will have separate classes as well. They will be here to prepare, too. While here, they and you will be peers.

"At the Junior School, Professor McGonagall is Headmistress. Professors Flitwick, Sprout, Hooch, Vector, and Hagrid will also teach in the junior school. Rubeus Hagrid has been promoted to professor, and Argus Filch is no longer employed by the school. Their duties as keeper of keys, groundskeeper, and caretaker are being assumed by the Sentries.

"Your former professor of potions, Severus Snape, is no longer employed by the school and is wanted for the assassination of Headmaster Dumbledore. If you should see Mr. Snape, do not attempt to exact revenge. Others have already claimed the right to that pleasure."

"Professors Trelawney, Binns, and Sinistra are on sabbatical this year. Their subjects will be taught in a single elective class, _Perspectives on Magic_. It will meet once per month on Saturdays at 4 in the morning. I encourage you not to enroll.

—

It was a simple choice, which Hermione kept emphasizing. They would pick a male Slytherin who was not from an influential family and who was not well respected by his peers. The closest Sentry would cast an aggravation spell, _Agiato_ — which would make him irritable and easily provoked — followed by a spell to simulate someone bumping into his forearm. When the student reacted, the Headmaster would do his thing.

Why these things were so difficult for Harry was an ongoing source of mystery and concern to Ron and Hermione, because once someone was "chosen" — and Harry had made many such choices over the past month — he was quite willing to impose on that person injury, capture, or a quick death, or the injury, capture or quick death of any of the person's family or friends.

They thought he might be fighting an inner battle with himself over whether he was turning dark, which Harry refused to talk about.

They often wondered the same thing about themselves. Hermione in particular was sensitive to it, because she'd grown up in the muggle world well educated about the muggle Geneva Conventions. She knew very well that singling out family and friends to intimidate someone was a war crime, and she understood why. And there she was, debating who was next and transmitting orders of execution to the Sentries, who clearly had no problems killing anyone Harry told them to kill. _Am I dark, or just running a war? Couldn't I just be gray?_

But at last Harry picked a name — Michael Corner. Ron and Hermione were flabbergasted, because not only was Michael not a Slytherin, he was a basically faithful member of the D.A. — and was placed on the list of those "trusted for loyal combat" by Harry himself only a week before.

"I decided on a new strategy," Harry said. "All we need to say is there are consequences and that it doesn't matter who. So pick someone not obvious."

Hermione held her tongue, because she argued the same thing a week earlier, which Harry rejected. "The message is that enemies are punished," he said back then. _ Oh well; poor Michael Corner. _

Ron sent the message.

**8  
Ouch!**

Blaise's nervousness was doubling by the minute. They were going to hunt down dark wizards and train the school to do the same. He fired all the teachers or sent them down to babyland. _Sabbatical my arse._ These "sentries" are as nasty as they look. Special students? He wants to train the whole bloody country. _But who are the faculty?_

—

The most interesting change came not with the students, but with the classes. Each student would pick one of three "tracks": **Scholar **for those that wanted to stay far away from combat, **Combat **for those who wanted to be right in the middle of it, and **Defense **for those in the middle. There would also be a school-wide lecture every week on various topics. The first would be the history of the death eaters.

At one point, the headmaster said the students in the Combat track would "have this faculty's undivided attention. We will spend every waking minute of the day and night to teach you to succeed against our enemies."

The Combat folks would all have the same six classes: **Darkness**, **Meditation**, **Strength**, **Strategy**, **Combat**, and **Survival**. And separate classes would not be held for different years. All fifth through seventh years would have the exact same classes. "Combat and Survival are not for the faint of heart," the Headmaster said. "You will be injured frequently. I make no guarantee you will not die in class."

—

And then it finally happened. A guy at the Ravenclaw table jerked back, raised his arms to protect the injured with the uninjured and said to Cho Chang, "What are you playing at?" The Headmaster was confused for a moment, because the plan had always been to target a Slytherin. But a small nod from a Sentry told him this was the real deal.

_Diffindo_, the Headmaster said in a matter-of-fact voice in the middle of a sentence as he flicked his wand at Michael's arm, cutting a gash in it a foot long — which prompted the wound to bleed, Michael to curse loudly, those around him to jerk back, most of the school to lose a breath, most of Slytherin to be confused, and the Headmaster to finish his sentence. He hadn't even looked Michael's way. After he finished the sentence, the Headmaster said, "Healer," whereupon a man and woman dressed in white popped in and tended to Mr. Corner's injuries.

—

"And do we tell Michael that he was deliberately chosen, when he finds out the Headmaster is basically doing our bidding, which he will, because that's where you put him?"

"Crap. I hadn't gotten that far." _Of course not_.

—

The Headmaster continued: "As I was about to say, death will be your constant companion. And now the faculty. Professor Frederick Weasley."

—–—–—–—–—–—–—–—–—–—–—–—–—–—–—–—–—–—–—–—–—–—

COMING SOON

- – — 1 — – -

_Harry found many members lacking._

HARRY  
I keep seeing this with group after group. You can't keep coming to these things if you flinch when you hear the word Voldemort. Voldemort, Voldemort, Voldemort. How many flinched, Hermione?

HERMIONE  
Seven.

HARRY  
If we have to take turns each meeting saying Voldemort, we will. Voldemort.

- – — 2 — – -

_Harry started to cry._

HARRY  
I wouldn't let some baby fend for itself if I bloody KNEW he wouldn't...! Bloody hell, Ron. I would have sent myself to the Dursleys. I would have sent myself to the Dursleys.

_He paused as Ron looked on. Whenever Harry was in one of these moods, Ron believed, it was better for Harry to let him get it out of his system, then talk. Or maybe it was better for Ron. In any event, Harry seemed not to be deep in thought as much as that he had just switched his brain off for a few seconds. But then the punchline came._

HARRY  
F**k you, Albus. Just f**k you.

—–—–—–—–—–—–—–—–—–—–—–—

_Elisabeth— Thank you so much!_


End file.
